Logs:Ferocious Little Kitten
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| RL Date: 21 January, 2013 |
| Who: Azaylia, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Azaylia and Hraedhyth's urge to roam brings them to Ista. R'hin finds them. It goes about as well as usual. |
| Where: The Sandbar, Ista Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 11, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: I'kris/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Bit of a backscene, before the gold pair are visibly proddy. |
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| The Sandbar, Ista Weyr Standing on stilts over the water's edge with a broad ramp leading up from the beach, the thatch-roofed building sits well above the highest tide line. The walls of the structure are nothing but timber frames, open to the cooling sea breezes but equipped with hinged panels of woven grass that can be lowered during inclement weather. Within, supporting pillars are draped in cast-off nets and shells and myriad tables provide seating with spectacular panoramic views of the ocean, beach, and the bustling activity of the docks to the west. A finely polished, sparkling slab of obsidian serves as the bar and it's smooth surface is etched with decorative carvings of shipfish and flowers and other emblems of the tropical location. Shelves behind the bar are lined with bottles and glasses of various shapes and sizes and hanging in prominent view are slates listing the menu, beverages both alcoholic and not as well as a handful of greasy appetizers provided by the kitchen to the rear of the bar. Istan sand, surf and most importantly sun help to banish any memory of autumn the rider and her gold might have. Rukbat may be on its slow way to setting, warmth darkening both Azaylia's complexion and heating Hraedhyth's hide in the best way. The dragon keeps in sight within her temporary wallow on the beach, ebon grains making even her dark markings look bright in contrast. The goldrider is enjoying a drink of the same name, wrapped in a two piece skirt ensemble, sheer gold and turquoise shawl resting on her shoulders. Down the bar, a patron has ordered something which seems to be on fire, which of course holds her interest. After he manages to put it out, she joins in the good natured clapping. Said reasons -- sand, surf and sun -- have drawn more than just a High Reachian goldrider; they've also brought a Monacoan bronzerider. Leiventh touches lightly down on the sand, barely stirring the grains below, waiting with infinite-seeming patience while R'hin strips out of his flight gear, down to his shorts. While the bronzerider wades out into the water, disappearing quickly -- if briefly, below the waves -- the bronze settles in against the warm sand. While there's barely a look in Hraedhyth's direction, it'd be impossible not to notice her. « Hraedhyth, » comes the bronze's icy cool tones. « You look well in the sun. » An observation, not a compliment -- though it could be taken otherwise. In the water, R'hin's resurfaced and wading his way towards the bar, gaze drawn too by the clapping as he runs fingers through wet hair. Lei. Venth. The drums pound in a slow yet insistent manner, loud but keeping her relaxation in mind. « I do. » Hraedhyth is far from fatigued, even as warm ichor courses through her worked frame. She's done all the swimming, flying, running bit already. Azaylia is smiling for what seems like a brave feate to her. There's still enough of her citrusy sweet drink for her to decline any dares with a shy laugh. A bronze dragon is difficult to miss, but not that out of the ordinary. Once her lifemate reveals who it is, she's sitting up and making an attempt to find R'hin before he finds her. Too late. She turns back to the bar, concentrating on a long, fortifying sip. There's no fire to counter the chill of his tone, for which Leiventh might be grateful, and yet he is long and languid in any response. Perhaps it's the heat -- but more than likely a deliberate measure of the dragon's considering nature. « You... feel more at ease, here, Hraedhyth. » Observation, not criticism; the lightness of his tone suggests he's interested. Is that a brush of the bronzerider's fingers against the loose curls of Azaylia's hair after she turns her back? Surely even R'hin wouldn't be that presumptuous. And yet she can feel his presence beside her a beat later, leaning against the bar. "That fire drink certainly looked interesting. Would you like one?" No polite sort of greeting, but then that isn't out of the ordinary for the Monacoan; his gaze is on the various bottles lining the bar, rather than at her. There is always fire. Always. Hraedhyth is simply in the mood for sun, though she'll blow a puff of leisurely smoke to dirty Leiventh's crisp tone. « Not even you can bother me. » Low contralto carries a growl. I can still burn you, old man. The annoyed threat is a direct tether to her rider, who stiffens at the shift in her curls. She doesn't investigate, eyes closing at the sound of R'hin's voice. "Don't drip on me." Is a quiet plea, an attempt at the civility that usually comes so easily to the woman. "Maybe after this one. Hello, R'hin." There, better. « I bother you? » This, then, is apparent news to Leiventh, the bronze's icy cool tones shifting from one direction to another; coincidentally curling the smoke into the air between them, creating a hazy cloud of buffer. If the bronze senses that lower growl and the direction, it certainly doesn't move him to defense; his rider can get himself out of whatever trouble he's getting into. "You'll dry quick enough," is the easy, unmoved response from R'hin. A careful evaluation of the level of her drink, and he signals the bartender. "Two of those fire-drinks, please. Though you might have to tie your hair back -- wouldn't want to singe those locks." And now, finally, the Monacoan regards her, something amused in his expression, not that this is unusual. And too, lightly teasing: "Hello, Azaylia." The smoke is willing to be curled and rolled, if only because it would have done so on its own. « You and Yours. » A focused, heavy thump when mentioning the bronzerider. Loyalty drives her opinion, obviously. Azaylia leans onto the bar, possibly to get out of range of R'hin's drippings. Through a tense smile, teeth keep her voice from being completely at ease, "Thank you." Gritted out. A hand reaches up to tuck a wayward strand behind her ear, turning to look up at him with a faint lower of her brow. "If I told you I loved having you around, would you leave?" No matter her mood, it actually isn't a brush off. The question is innocently open, a comment on his contrary nature. More contemplation from Leiventh, while he considers that, statuesque form giving the impression he's fallen asleep, though his mental touch remains light, active. Finally, still curious: « Why? » While he's waiting for the bartender to make their drinks, R'hin runs hand through his hair, gaze flickering over some of the other occupants in the bar, although the subtle shift on Azaylia's part soon has his attention back on the goldrider. "Probably. It wouldn't be nearly as fun, then," he responds with a smile, seemingly honest for once on that. Then again, he's a serial liar, so maybe he's just indulging her? If it is truth, it's responded to by a question of his own: "Is it politeness that keeps you from telling me to shove off, or are you just intrigued despite your better judgement?" A beat, as his smile deepens, "And Hraedhyth's?" There's a deep, deep inhale from Hraedhyth at Leiventh's question, the result an equally lengthy growl. « Because. » Her ranks are stirring, furred nightmares stoking the flames that were relaxed embers only moments ago. Azaylia's own breathy exhale is not just air, "Like a five turn old." She's had enough experience with children to know they also enjoy doing the opposite of what they're told. R'hin's smile at least has her making another attempt, the corner of her lips pulling to the side, "If I told you to shove off, you'd stay." From what he's just told her. That protective set in her stare is hinted at as she asks, "What about Hraedhyth? She's not proddy yet." So don't even think about it, buster. Because. That isn't an acceptable answer, at least not for Leiventh, and so his touch lingers, accepting the growing heat of her tones in expectation of an eventual answer. Whether he receives one or not is another matter: he merely waits with seeming infinite patience for it, all the same. R'hin's fingers tap the top of the bar in a contemplative gesture. "The ferocious little kitten is learning," he murmurs, just loud enough to be heard, just soft enough that it could be politely ignored. The amusement fades by measures as surprise suffuses his expression at that last, giving Azaylia a careful, sidelong look. "Who said anything about her being proddy?" He pauses, gaze going briefly distant, then refocusing on her, something a bit more intent in his gaze, now. It might be unnerving, and yet there's something oddly sympathetic in the timber of his voice, "I'll bet they're watching you like an avian. Waiting. It must be... unnerving." Tough wherry. Leiventh is left to chew on it for a time until what little patience Hraedhyth has is burned to ash. « Yours lies. Yours annoys. » The word chafes, as unfamiliar with saying it as her rider is with feeling it. And is Azaylia ever feeling it; any comment she may have on 'ferocious little kitten' swallowed with the rest of her sweet drink. Just in time for their two shots of Dragon's Flame, fire quickly blown out by the startled goldrider. "Really?" A soft laugh of disbelief mingles well with one at her smoking beverage. She's nowhere near jaded enough to ignore the spectacle. "R'hin didn't know something? So you didn't follow us here?" She sounds dubious, taking the shot and giving a full-body shiver at it. As for being unnerved, "I'm... It's normal." Not a lie. Leiventh accepts both of Hraedhyth's responses with ease. « True. » Matter of fact, the bronze continues, « But I have done neither of those things. » There's an expectant air riding the chill breezes of his tones. R'hin, too, takes the drink as an excuse, quickly following suit by blowing out his own drink, a sidelong glance to judge Azaylia's measure before he downs the liquid. It takes him a moment, during which he settles onto the barstool next to the goldrider's -- giving her a little distance, undoubtedly deliberately. His voice, when he speaks, is rough from the liquid, "If you imagine that I'm stalking you in the hopes of winning High Reaches' then you're far off the mark. My... arrangement... at Monaco suits me, for all the drawbacks." A grimace, brief, directed down at the bar. "I'd say you have plenty enough scheming bronzeriders at your own Weyr to worry about, kitten." Another puff of black smoke for that expected air. Choke on it. Hreadhyth's instinctive rebellion doesn't override common sense, « If I were kind to you, » Instead of so defensive, « It might upset Mine. » She'll leave that up to Leiventh's rider. He's so good at it. Azaylia takes a moment to clear her throat of any roughness, voice remaining gentle even while tone might contrast it. "No, I thought you were stalking me to..." Annoy. "...be rude." She pushes her shot glass forward with the back of her fingers, hands resting atop one another on the obsidian bar. Hesitant, she'll finally glance over at the bronzerider, "I'm not worried." Some of that gold's defiance shines through, "People can scheme all they want. Hraedhyth isn't just any gold." This time, the smoke is allowed to gather, to hang in the air; Leiventh's chill winds don't seek to part the cloud that it creates between them. « Would it? » The bronze seems more puzzled than anything by that. « I am not my rider, » the Reachian-born bronze points out, complacently. The pause, and the eventual 'rude' by Azaylia has R'hin chuckling, eyes bright as he sets his glass down next to hers, nudging it close so that it 'clinks'. "Well, that I won't deny." The annoying, not the stalking, presumably, though it could be easily read otherwise. "At least I buy you drinks while doing so." Speaking of which, he's signalling the bartender again. "Of course she's not," the bronzerider agrees smoothly, on the subject of Hraedhyth, either the truth, or a very good lie. "And you're not just any girl. I'd imagine," a flicker of fingers, "They'll be plenty of people believing you're young enough to be... influenced." « I am not mine. » Hraedhyth agrees without saying as much. A pleasant snarl slips from her muzzle as she obliterates her sand-wallow ith a long flex of her legs. Whump. Onto her side. So graceful is she. The smoke dissipates after lengthy consideration (and possible questioning), « Mine does not dislike you. » Interesting. Azaylia gives a shrug, words somewhat thoughtful, "I probably am." Not an attempt at modesty, believing in herself to be mundane. There's no argument when he orders another drink, not planning on fleeing her spot just because of him. And free liquor is nice. "People?" She repeats, the look she gives the person is surprisingly pointed. It doesn't stay long, "Maybe I am." But, "Nobody could influence me into hurting my Weyr." That's what matters, says the faint tilt of her chin. Leiventh, apparently, is well pleased with this answer, a faint more-felt-than-heard thrum coming from his direction. He shifts just enough to settle head against the warm sand, pointed in her direction, but otherwise remains still. "Do you really believe that?" R'hin responds, surprised enough that he leans forward to get a closer look at her expression, brow furrowed. "Somehow I doubt Hraedhyth would let that happen. She's very... protective." Leaning back again, he gives a nod at the latter, murmuring, "It's the things that we do in order to protect our Weyr that keeps one up at night." Hraedhyth makes no attempt to ruin Leiventh's pleased mood, flames once again dying down into heated calm. If her rider is fine with him then what issue can the queen have during peacetime? Azaylia's shoulders have unbunched though it could very well be the liquor's doing. "I know what happens to... people, when they think they're better than everyone else." R'hin's lean has her easing away, lips pursed until he retreats. "The things you do." She stresses, a gentle reminder. "I couldn't do the things you do." A mutter which lacks any animosity, despite what she must have put together from the bits revealed over such talks with the man. The bartender brings over a refill -- not on fire this time -- and R'hin indicates for Azaylia's glass to be refilled first. In response to her reminder (correction?), the Monacoan is initially quiet, waiting until the bartender's retreated. Just as gently, "Yet you handed the boy over to me, knowing what would have to be done." He reaches for his glass, deliberately not looking at her. Yet there's nothing apologetic in this tone as he downs the liquid, leaving his voice rough. "Sometimes the true measure of a leader is not what he does, but what he -- or she -- is willing to do. Or to ask others to do." And only now does the sandy-haired bronzerider turn to regard Azaylia steadily. "I have many regrets in my life, kitten. The things I've done in the protection of High Reaches' is definitely not one of them." Azaylia accepts the refill with an easy smile for the 'tender, her thanks given. The blood drains from her face, no trace of a smile for what R'hin has to say. Her gaze drops to the drink in her hand, lips weighted down into a miserable, involuntary frown. Downing the shot, it's set on the bar a little too roughly as she coughs and sniffs to regain her composure from the burn. "Don't call me kitten." It's all she can husk out, eyes set on the now empty glass. Stiffly her arms cross and she eases into a forward lean, not looking at R'hin once. "You win. Happy?" Comes the gentle murmur, wondering what he has in store now that she's beyond feeling annoyed. It'd be impossible for R'hin to miss her reaction to that, but there's no satisfaction in his pale gaze. A hand lifts and hovers over her back as she coughs, though drops away once she recovers. It's silent for a moment, but maybe she can feel the weight of the Monacoan's gaze on her. Finally, quietly, "Not overly. You're young; you'll have to learn how to live with it." A twitch of shoulders is the barest remnants of a shrug. "Politeness would dictate I apologize for ruining the mood, but, as you know I am an ass. So I'll just buy you another drink instead, and hope you resist the urge to punch me in the face. At least in public; it'd ruin my image." A hint of dark humor in the latter, as he gives a nod to the bartender to summon him over. Hraedhyth is already up, flecks of red in her gaze mirroring the fire which roars to life within. Tawny hide is given a shake, grains thrown off just as the queen begins to pace. Azaylia is surprisingly still, given her lifemate's active agitation. "Maybe I'd be able to if you didn't throw it back in my face." No bite, only breathlessly bitter. When she does decide to look at him, it's with that stare that R'hin must be familiar with by now. This variation is somewhat misty as she hops off the stool. "No thank you. Wouldn't want to ruin your image as an a--" Even now the words sour her tongue, expression pained. With a shake of her head the goldrider aims for the beach, where the snarling gold is waiting. Although there's no apology in R'hin's expression, there is something sympathetic, especially at the latter look, which evokes a throaty exhale. A quick wave and a, "I'll be back in a moment," to the bartender, and the bronzerider's pacing Azaylia, silently, with the obvious intention of escorting her. This of course, means facing Hraedhyth, though that doesn't slow him. Speaking of which, the queen's sudden agitation stirs Leiventh to movement, if briefly, the bronze following her lazily. Any relief Hraedhyth might feel at the sight of Azaylia is incinerated by R'hin's following her. Sparks have turned into a blazing inferno within her rapidly whorling gaze, charging forward to aim a gutteral roar at the bronzerider. The goldrider spins around, stare carrying much of that same heat though brows remain level. Not a glare. "Leave me alone." Harsh whisper is followed by another bellow from the queen who has stopped behind her rider, shifting on restless limbs. No matter how strongly ingrained the knowledge that dragons don't hurt people is, an angry queen bearing down on someone makes even R'hin falter. There is, however, nothing but respect for the gold, hand folding across his middle to execute a bow to her. For Azaylia, he murmurs, undeterred, "You're upset," and whose fault is that? "--and you've been drinking. I just want to make sure you'll both make it home safely." Azaylia is startled out of some of that ferocity by his concern. "Oh." Hraedhyth is not so easy, his bow earning a snort that needs no translation. Oh please. Baring oversized jaws, she lowers her head over her rider's shoulders with growls carried on each exhale. A hand reaches up to stroke at the curled muzzle, though the weyrwoman's eyes remain on R'hin. "We'll be fine." No thanks to him. "I don't h-- dislike you enough to endanger my dragon." The tension in Azaylia's frame may have to do with how the gold quiets, muzzle smoothing back over her teeth. That correction, if nothing else, earns a quick, wry smile from R'hin. "That's good to know," he says, pale eyes glittering, holding his ground despite Hraedhyth's growl. Leiventh, by the way, is not getting involved in any of this, except for a faint noise that's probably the draconic equivalent of rolling his eyes, and a brief, chill touch: « Goodbye, Hraedhyth. » Tugging a hand through damp hair, the Monacoan rider backs up enough to give the pair room to take off. "I'd suggest staying close to home for the next few days. If nothing else, it means you'll definitely not see me." Self-directed humor, as the bronzerider nods respectfully towards Hraedhyth. Hraedhyth's very touch is fire, sizzling when met with Leiventh's cool farewell. Drums almost drown out her grunted « Bye. » In no mood to be cordial now. Azaylia has nothing more to say, concentrating on climbing up onto the gold's back in her long skirt. It's not the type of clothing she should be betweening in, but hopefully the liquor in her system will help with that. Not likely. The goldrider gives one last look down at the bronzerider before her dragon takes off, not being particularly mindful of the sandspray as she does. They're flying for a good while before the dot in the sky blinks out of existence. That look shows that the Monacoan's still watching, shading his eyes -- from the sun rather than the sand -- although that probably helps with that too -- until the pair disappear from sight. |
Comments
Comments on "Logs:Ferocious Little Kitten"Val (Varied) left a comment on Tue, 22 Jan 2013 06:28:14 GMT.
Oh, kitten. Drinks on fire! Fun times.
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